


Shotgun

by omgbubblesomg



Series: 31 fics in 31 days [26]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Angst, Bottom Castiel, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Endverse Cas, Endverse Dean, Kinktober 2017, M/M, No srsly angst, Past Relationship(s), Shotgunning, Smoking, Top Dean, implied Castiel/others, sex and feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 19:20:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12514632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: Dean returns from a raid to find Cas getting high.





	Shotgun

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this is late omg.
> 
> Kinktober Day 26: **Shotgunning** | mirror sex | stockings/tights/pantyhose

Cas is feeling soft and goopy, like honey left out in the sun. His limbs are gelatinous, spread out around him in a sea of blankets and pillows and the background humming sound that tells him he’s going to need more weed if he wants to stay here for the whole day.

The door gets thrown open on a gust of wind, and Dean marches in through it, looking every inch the pissed-off and overworked operative. Cas doesn’t bother to hide his naked body. There’s nothing that Dean hasn’t seen before.

“Deannnnn,” Cas slurs at him, smiling lopsidedly. It’s so good to see him, especially here, in Cas’s ‘den of inequity’, where their fearless leader rarely lets himself come.

“God dammit, Cas, are you high?”

“Almost,” Cas grins at him. He’s just on the edge of a true high. He’s feeling relaxed and friendly and he’s one joint away from his end goal. “Care to join me?”

Dean kicks a pillow away in disgust. “I came to tell you that the raid went well, actually. The raid that you were supposed to be on.”

“Ah yes,” Cas flops his hands. His sentences are coming out with stresses in the wrong places. “The raid. The _raid._ I am, of course, over _joyed_ to see your safe return.”

“You should’ve been there, Cas.”

“I have more im _por_ tant things to do,” he explains, though in truth he had simply forgotten.

Dean takes a seat beside him, and with a disgruntled air he grabs the lighter and the last joint off the table next to Cas’s head. With a practiced flick he lights it, taking a quick hit.

It’s such a surprisingly erotic thing, seeing Dean like that, smoking marijuana of all things, that Cas is immediately sober. His dick throbs when Dean brings the joint to his lips again, breathing deep and holding like Cas taught him, oh, _years_ ago.

He licks his lips. “If you only came here for the drugs, you could’ve said so from the start,” he says, mock-annoyed. Dean eyes him as he takes another pull and, woah, he’s going way too fast. “You’ll knock yourself out at this rate,” Cas tells him, trying to take the joint out of his hands. Dean keeps it away with ease.

“Getting knocked out sounds fun,” he says dryly, “especially if it keeps you out of trouble for a day or two.” He wraps his lips around the joint again, almost missing it this time. He must be feeling it. Cas gets a wave of longing so intense he can’t speak around it, can only watch as Dean’s cheeks hollow out. Cas had made that joint only an hour ago. He had sealed the paper shut with his own tongue. The thought of his saliva in Dean’s mouth has him hard, harder than he’s been in years, as hard as he was the last time he was in Dean’s bed, when the grief and the blame became too much for both of them and they called it quits.

“Dean,” he says, lost and low and so fucking desperate that he barely recognises his own voice. It’s been… far too long since he’s heard anything but apathy from his own lips. But he wants. God, does he want. He finds himself in Dean’s space almost by accident, and it’s only the most stubborn act of will that has him reaching for the joint, instead of Dean.

“You want it?” Dean asks, and it’s such a loaded question, but no matter which way Cas looks at it the answer’s the same. There’s only ever one answer he can give Dean, anyway, and maybe he’s not as sober as he thinks, because the world is greying out around him as he mouths it, _Yes,_ into the inch of air between their faces.

Dean draws the joint back to his lips and Cas watches, can’t help it. The smell of weed. The sweet pull of it. The way Dean’s lips purse so perfectly around the tip that Cas’s own fingers created.

Dean’s other hand comes up to wrap around the back of Cas’s neck, and he’s being drawn in, drawn closer. The joint leaves Dean’s mouth and Cas replaces it. His lips are already open. He wants this. Wants Dean. But Dean’s not giving himself. He’s breathing out, giving Cas the smoke, the drug, the second-hand high that’s so much better because it came directly from Dean’s lungs. Cas inhales it in on autopilot, and doesn’t pull away when it’s gone. He wants to do it again, maybe breathe it back for Dean this time, an endless cycle of weed and pleasure and the wet feel of their lips, so familiar even after all this time.

He moans when Dean pulls away, and that’s the only thing that reminds him to breathe again, to let the smoke out.

The room is spinning around him but it has nothing to do with the weed and everything to do with the way Dean wraps his lips around the joint again, taking another lungful, and Cas doesn’t need the draw of his hand anymore. He leans in of his own volition to take the smoke as Dean breathes it out, but he doesn’t lean back this time. He keeps their mouths together and lets his tongue slip out to trace the shape of lips that he never forgot. He’s had so much practice at this. He’s taken so many people into his bed in the intervening years, but it’s Dean that taught him first. It’s Dean that showed him how to make it good. How to make it hot. How to bite without teeth, just the gentle pressure of lips catching and tugging.

When Dean goes to draw another lungful of smoke, Cas pushes the joint away, suddenly envious of anything that Dean would put between their mouths. He crawls into Dean’s lap, straddling him easily, and he’s overjoyed when he feels that Dean’s hard, too. And getting harder as Cas laps at him.

They kiss like they’ve got all the time in the world. Languid and long as if they’ve forgotten the years that have divided _then_ from _now_. There’s no rush. Their hips make lazy circles against each other and Cas can barely breathe when they separate. He had forgotten that there was more than sex, that there could possibly be more than sex. He had forgotten that the only reason he kept the women around was for this purpose; to forget the taste of Dean. The feel of him.

Cas has spent his life on his knees before one God or another, but Dean is the only one who ever claimed more than just his loyalty.

There’s a tube of almost-new lotion nearby, and Cas reaches for it, slicking up two fingers with practiced ease. When he kneels up Dean follows his mouth but doesn’t try to stop him from reaching backwards, opening himself.

Two fingers is all it takes. The scissor-pull of them as he works them inside himself, mouth still on Dean’s and the air thick with the joint that’s smouldering on the table.

Dean takes his time, still not rushed. Even when Cas says he’s ready and angles his slicked open hole against the hard length he can feel in Dean’s trousers.

Eventually it’s too much and Cas takes matters into his own hands, quite literally, drawing Dean out. Dean sighs, but makes no other noise of either complaint or enjoyment. He doesn’t even move, really, except an aborted attempt to reach for Cas’s face which hurts more than it should, especially when his hands come to rest on Cas’s hips instead.

Taking him in is perfection. Everything he’s been missing and he can’t help but try to make a show of it, arching his back just so, and squeezing where Dean’s buried deep. He wants this again. He wants this forever. He’s trying to show off, but Dean doesn’t let him get away with it for long. His fingers dig a warning into Cas’s waist and Cas lets himself settle. He sits fully and they stay like that, hardly moving. Eyes locked so they can watch each other’s pleasure. Dean’s only got a ring of green left around blown-wide pupils, and Cas doesn’t know if that’s from the drugs or from the sex, but either way he provided both, and that does funny-wonderful things to his stomach, knowing that he caused that. He did that to Dean.

Cas rocks himself just barely in Dean’s lap, just the way he used to like it. Slow and steady and silent until Cas can feel that he’s ready, hard and throbbing where he’s buried. He wants to kiss Dean through it but he wants to watch his pleasure even more, so he doesn’t lean in when Dean’s eyes flicker shut, then open, then shut again. Dean hardly makes a noise as he comes, just a soft groan as his shoulders tremble and his mouth falls slack. Cas drinks it in. The only sustenance he’ll ever need. The way Dean twitches minutely. The way his hands clench just a fraction harder around Cas’s waist. The way his face finally, finally relaxes. The hard lines ease out from around his eyes and suddenly it’s Dean again. The young, hopeful, hopeless Dean that Cas raised out of hell. The Dean that laughed when Cas tried cooking for the first time. The Dean that used to smile sleepily at him from the covers of their bed.

Dean’s eyes blink open, and for the barest fraction of a second it’s still him: open and wonderful and _Dean,_ staring at Cas like there’s nothing else in the world but the two of them. Cas thought he lost his heart years ago, but he hadn’t, not really. It had been there all along, waiting for this moment so it could break all over again.

He opens his mouth and he doesn’t know what he’s going to say. What he could possibly say. His mind is heavy with weed and sex and he’s not going to live through this moment. He’s not going to live through this need.

There’s a knock on the door and Matilda walks into the room. She giggles when she sees them. “Heya, Cassie, did you forget I was coming by? Should I come back some other time?” She winks. “Or I could join you right now if you’d prefer.” She giggles again, and just like that Dean’s gone, shuttered back behind his schooled expression. It’s the fearless leader again. There’s no emotion in his eyes. No betrayal, or hurt, or desire. He slips out of Cas carefully, and zips himself back up. He nods at Matilda on his way out the door, and doesn’t look back once. “I didn’t know Winchester visited you, too,” Matilda giggles. “He mustn’t be very good, though.” She’s eyeing Cas’s flagging erection.

The joint is still smouldering on the side table, and Cas picks it up. It’s still damp from Dean’s lips. Just the end of an ember, now. He brings it to his mouth, hoping to get just a taste. But it’s just weed. Everything that could have been _Dean_ is long gone. He breathes it in anyway, and hopes it’s enough to forget.

He pats the pillow beside him, and Matilda sits down, still giggling.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> OUCH
> 
> Tune in for Kink Day 27: Branding


End file.
